


Every Touch Leaves a Mark

by EvAEleanor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Drarry In The Dark, Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, Inflatable dolls, Lace Panties, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Party Preparations, Piercings, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Tattoos, wound treatment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor/pseuds/EvAEleanor
Summary: One night, one man, one bum.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 27
Kudos: 21





	1. An Image Prompts a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated once a month. The tags will be updated as the story progresses, and the rating will very likely go up, too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco stumbles over an image and is reminded of one of the best nights of his life. There’s a catch though; of course, there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio) and [Drarrelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie) thanks for being my betas for this chapter.

It’s not that Draco minds coming to Diagon Alley so much — most people just give him a side-eye instead of jinxing him these days — it’s more that he doesn’t want to come _here_ of all places. Draco might admire artworks and jewellery in different body areas, but he’s never been fond of anything spiky. Some would say he’s squeamish about needles. 

He is, however, a good best friend, and Pansy promised him this will be her last piercing.

 _As if! She’s betrayed me four times already._

“Remind me again why I’m here,” Draco says without offering her a greeting.

“Because you love me,” Pansy answers after pressing a kiss to his cheek. Draco raises an eyebrow. “And because you don’t want to get on my bad side.”

“Point.” He lets out a sigh. “But why can’t your wife be here?”

“Oh, darling.” There’s this smirk on her face that Draco knows all too well.

He holds up a hand. “Stop right there. I don’t need to know the specifics of your sex life.”

“You’re such a prude.”

In lieu of replying, Draco opens the door for her and ushers her in. He just wants to get this over with. It’s not like she really needs him anyway — he’s not even in the same room when they stick a needle into whatever part of her body needs to be accentuated this time — but it’s more his physical presence that calms her down. 

Draco usually busies himself with the magazines lying around when Pansy is gone, but today, a binder catches his eye. He thumbs through it, looking at image after image of ink on skin. Draco admires some people’s bravery, quietly laughs at the stupidity of others, and rolls his eyes when he sees that somebody got Potter’s signature on their skin. Like an ‘I was here’ carved into wood. Draco wonders though if Potter actually signed _that_ particular patch of skin. 

He doesn’t dwell on it, though, because there are so many more images to look at. No matter how stupid a couple of designs are, their execution is flawless. Thin lines, perfect shading. Draco is captured by every single one of them. He turns the page once more when his eyes fall on something familiar.

The memory of it is distant, foggy. His finger traces the lines absentmindedly, the simple outline. He can still feel the ghost of the raised lines on olive skin, the dark, unruly hair slipping through his fingers. Can almost taste the beer and whiskey on his tongue. Draco remembers how the loud music faded into nothingness, replaced by the sound of their combined moans. The way they moved together. How _it_ moved as well in the rhythm of Draco’s thrusts.

Pansy’s heels echo across the room, dragging Draco out of his haze.

“A Snitch on your arse? Draco, I think you can find something better.”

Draco scoffs lightly; he can’t think of anything to say to her. Or how do you explain to your best friend that you got wasted in a club one night, fucked somebody, and are still hung up on it? Months later. 

That night was perfect in every way possible. It was a high like he’s never experienced before. Sometimes, when he’s all alone, he catches himself wishing the person were… Draco shakes his head lightly as he gets up from his seat. It’s impossible and he knows it.

“No more ink on my skin. I have enough marks for a lifetime,” Draco finally says, linking their arms before they walk rather _slowly_ towards the door. 

“All right. I still need to get dittany from the apothecary to speed up the healing process. I can’t wait to show my lovely wife.” 

Pansy’s words are totally lost on him. Draco stands in the doorway for two seconds, glancing back to the folder on the table before pulling the door shut. 

There’s one thing that stings till this day.

_I don’t even know his name. Just… his bum._


	2. A Remark Becomes an Eye-Opener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected remark makes Draco blurt out something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, [Janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio), for the last-minute beta job. Thanks to [Drarrelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie) for brainstorming with me and finding a title.

“Ouch!”

“If you’d hold still, I wouldn’t end up poking around,” Draco admonishes.

“It’s taking you rather long today.”

“Well, I’m exhausted from work, and you’re rather squeamish today.” Draco rubs his forehead before diving back in. “How did you manage to look like this after a training session anyway, Ginny?”

“Practice game, and the new Beaters are very… unerring. Which is good, but I wasn’t really prepared for that.”

Draco gets off the couch to kneel in front of Ginny on the rug. “Spread your legs, darling, I need to take a look at the wound there,” he says, tapping gently on her knee. Very carefully, he pulls the badly applied magical bandage off Ginny’s upper thigh and quickly casts a spell to protect the couch. It’s more blood than he expected. And more tissue damage. “This is gonna take a while.”

Normally, he’d tell her to check in with the team Healer about it tomorrow, but he knows she won’t, so there’s no point. His visits have somehow become an almost weekly ritual by now. To be honest, Draco isn’t even sure anymore how it started, he just knows he’s seeing more of his best friend’s house since Ginny entered her life.

“All right. Then—” she quickly flips through a magazine, making a variety of noises before finding something she likes “—let’s determine your true age.”

“I really have to focus here if you’re determined on playing in three days.” 

“Would you rather have a werewolf’s fur or a Hippogriff’s feathers?”

Draco pointedly ignores her and focuses on repairing the tissue layer by layer, slowly closing the gash. Suddenly, Ginny kicks him with her other leg on his upper arm.

“Werewolf or Hippogriff?”

Draco glowers at her. “I can leave if you prefer that.”

Ginny’s retort is already on her tongue, but then the Floo glows green and both Ginny and Draco look wide-eyed at each other.

Pansy is over an hour early.

_Fuck._

“He’s such a himbo, I can’t take it,” Pansy groans in total frustration.

“Who?” Ginny asks, motioning at Draco to quickly finish up. 

Despite his patching up Ginny all the time, they had so far managed to keep it hidden from Pansy.

“Your ex.”

Ginny huffs out a laugh. “You have to be a bit more specific. The plant lover, the Hufflepuff, or the gay one?”

Draco knits his brow. _Gay? Which of them is gay?_

The clacking of her heels on the wooden floor becomes louder and louder as Pansy moves towards them. “Which one would I meet in the Ministry?” Draco looks up, directly into his best friend’s eyes. “Hi, Draco. Having fun down there? It’s my favourite position.” Pansy smirks at him. 

Draco really could’ve lived without the images invading his brain. After quickly glancing at Ginny’s thigh again and seeing there’s only a faint red mark left, he gets up and takes a seat next to her. Pansy has occupied the armchair across from them and poured herself a huge glass of red. 

They watch Pansy drink it all in one go, both knowing better than to ask the obvious, ‘ _What happened?_ ’

“Hermione and I have been presenting this one bill for months without success. Then, as a last-ditch attempt, she reaches out to Potter. He comes in, wearing his usual tight-fitting, and for once unwrinkled, robes. Basically, all he does is to smile brightly at the Wizengamot, and they pass it. How’s that fair?” She refills her glass and takes another sip. “How’s that fair?” 

His duty as best friend demands him to be outraged about the injustice and obvious sexism, but—

“Potter’s gay?” he blurts out. His cough afterwards doesn’t help to cover anything up. He’s also not thinking about Potter in his uniform. Absolutely not.

“Yes, Draco, how did you—”

“—Not hear about that,” Pansy abruptly chimes in.

They stare at each other, having one of those silent conversations married couples have, confusing Draco horribly. He’d remember if anyone had told him before, or if he’d read it in the Prophet. Potter being gay would’ve made the headlines for weeks. 

_What am I missing?_

“Who’s in for wine, pizza and a movie?” Pansy asks.

Draco knows he’ll probably fall asleep during the film again, he can barely keep his eyes open as it is, but he has to stay for Pansy. Hopefully, it’ll distract him enough to not think about Potter for now.


	3. A Garment Triggers a Palpitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has no idea how to deal with Harry fucking Potter sitting in his living room one Saturday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to [Janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio) for doing a marvellous beta job. And once more [Drarrelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie) brainstormed with me and helped me find a good title. You're both amazing.

Draco braces himself on the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil while praying that it’ll never finish its task. He turns his head a bit, checking if Potter is still sitting on his living room floor and this hasn’t just been some delusion.

_Pansy, you will pay for this._

It’s her fault. Hers and her bloody wife’s. Never again will he go out to a 'fun pub night' only to discover that half of their year is present. Potter being among them, of course.

To be honest, Draco doesn’t remember how they’d got him to agree to this — he blames the booze that Pansy kept buying and Ginny’s persistence. It doesn’t matter at all. The fact is that for over a week, bags had been in the corner of his living room. And not just that. Harry fucking Potter invoked some kind of drunken promise of help from said pub night and is now perched comfortably in Draco’s flat, blowing air into something Draco can’t discern from his position.

The whistle of the kettle signals the end of his refuge in the kitchen. He pours the mugs and carries them to the living room. He halts abruptly in the door frame where he can finally see what his guest, or rather the invader of his sacred halls and thief of his precious time, does.

In an attempt to keep composure, Draco turns his back to the living room and steadies his grip on the mugs. Only when he’s sure he can survive the sight awaiting him, he walks into the room. With the mugs carefully set on the table, Draco sits down on the couch.

He takes a deep breath before speaking. “What in Circe’s name are these plastic monstrosities?”

Potter pauses his task. “They’re inflatable dolls,” he states casually.

“That doesn’t explain their presence in my living room.”

“You were drunker than I thought,” Potter mumbles to himself, but Draco can still hear it. “All the stuff here is for Ron’s stag night. You promised you’d help me with the last-minute preparations.”

 _This reeks of Pansy._ Several ideas on how to slowly torture his best friend are popping into Draco’s head.

Ever since Ginny casually dropped the bomb that is Potter’s sexuality, hours have been spent imagining different scenarios. Many hours, more than Draco is comfortable admitting. It’s not that he _wants_ Potter, but he’s intrigued by him, even more so now that he knows that something _could_ happen between them.

Maybe he should make an attempt and get it out of his system. It might end Draco’s current obsession… or… or it could spread like a virus in his body and ruin their newly found friendship. Anyhow, that’s not even an option. Despite what his reputation proclaims, Draco isn’t one for casual sex or one-night stands. Except for the night in the club.

“All right,” Draco sighs, resigning himself to his fate. “What can I do to get you out of here as quickly as possible?”

The wide smile on Potter’s face bodes nothing good. “I have a special task, just for you,” he says and puts a green bag next to Draco.

Draco peeks inside. A cheap, golden crown is the first thing he sees. There’s also glitter, glue, a lot of other things Draco knows from doing crafts with Teddy and Victoire.

“I swear, Potter, if there’s even a hint of glitter in my living room after you’re gone, you can search for your balls in the depths of the Black Lake.”

“There’s also a pink sash at the bottom,” Potter says, ignoring Draco’s statement. “Do you think you can come up with something that rhymes with ‘Weasley is our queen’?”

Draco grins slyly at that. “How exactly will Weasley walk through Muggle London tonight?” he asks while beginning to glamourise the crown.

“Well, Fleur gave me one of her old Beauxbaton uniforms; Ron has always admired them immensely. Hermione helped with a wig resembling her Yule Ball hairstyle. And the crown and sash, of course.”

“Why did you refuse to be in Slytherin? You’d have fit right in.”

Potter huffs out a laugh before continuing to inflate the dolls. Draco sprinkles blue glitter over a pattern he’d just created with glue.

Surprisingly, the rest of the day passes without incident. They manage to keep their wands in their pockets, and none of Draco’s neighbours need to be Obliviated. While Draco cleans up the last remnants of the party preparations, Potter picks up the two bags filled with the things they’ve prepared. He’s wearing the sash that reads “Weasley is our Queen” on the front and “A Beauty that needs to be seen” on the back, and the crown sits proudly on his head. The two inflatable dolls are tucked under his arms.

He steps into the fireplace, and Draco is almost sad to see him leave.

“Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t have managed without you,” Potter says.

“You might have, but the crown wouldn’t look even half as pretty.”

The silence that follows is very awkward. Draco doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, and even Potter appears to be torn between staying and leaving.

Draco’s eyes drop to the floor, hoping Potter will take this as a sign to leave, but there’s a pair of lace knickers on the dark wood.

“Yours?” Draco holds them up with two fingers.

“Shit, must’ve slipped out of the bag. Put it in my mouth.”

Draco blinks a few times in confusion.

“Just do it, Malfoy. The bags aren’t getting lighter.”

Draco lifts the item to Potter’s mouth. He can't hear anything over the loud pounding of his heart in his chest. Heat rises into his cheeks as Potter’s teeth carefully dig into the lavender coloured fabric. An image Draco will never forget.

He throws Floo Powder into the flames and calls out Pansy’s address for Potter.

Then, Potter is gone, and with him, Draco’s sanity.


End file.
